I’ll just come right out and say it.
I hate women who emasculate their men.
I’m old school, for better or worse. I like men to be men. I want to have that door opened so I can daintily step through. And please, take my arm and walk on the curbside, and by all means….pay the damned check. No, I don’t want to go Dutch and it’s not because I’m cheap either. Where I come from it’s a man’s pleasure to treat me to a meal. Women who want to be in control I believe miss out. It’s awfully nice feeling feminine, lashes fluttering like a southern belle. That’s not to say women can’t wear pants, they just need to make sure the correct genitalia is in its rightful place.
The other thing I’d like to point out is how dispirited a man becomes when he’s stripped of his masculine stripes. A friend I’ll call Max, has a wife who does everything but spoon feed him and powder his ass. Due to mom issues, he goes along like a 60 year-old baby in a car seat.
We met for drinks not that long ago and it was to my credit I didn’t belt his wife who acted like Hitler in a twinset. She even tried bossing me, but we nipped that right in the bud.
Call me crazy, but the dance a man and woman waltzes was never meant to go out of style, and it has nothing to do with female independence. It’s natural to need looking after, someone’s arm circling your waist. Flowers on the doorstep, a gift for no special reason.
They’re the perks of being a lady after all, and all she’s required to do is be happy about it.
I’ll always remember something Bill Hicks said to me almost 30 years ago when I questioned, why, in broad daylight he insisted on seeing me home.
“Baba, it’s cause I’m the gah, and yur the girrl.”